Rise of the Crusade
by Zhanael
Summary: Trigger warning: Chp 5. Sequel to "From the Desk."  The Home Sector Pack has migrated westward, searching out somewhere to call home.  But in the Colorado Rockies, they encounter unexpected trouble, and make an equally unexpected friend.  Reviews wanted!
1. Chapter 1

_**Garnet**_

_The year is 2013._

_Three years ago, the world was destroyed. While the planet and its ecology remained intact, humanity was nearly wiped out by what was known as the Green Flu._

_It wasn't really a flu. The early symptoms were flu-like, of course, which gave it its name. But the final stage was the deadliest. The virus turned its victims into what we called zombies. At first it was like they were the traditional sort of zombie, wandering mindlessly, aimlessly, or sitting or laying down where they stood, wherever they were. But then they started to kill, tearing at the unInfected with what seemed to be hunger._

_Two weeks after the first infection, the virus started to physically change its victims. Some became like huge, rage-fueled gorillas; others were formed into small, hunched leaping creatures. But whatever these new, special Infected had become, they were even less human than the "common" zombies. They were well and truly animals. Their brains, their bodies were changed irrevocably._

_Some people, like me, were immune. This was extremely rare; I was one of merely hundreds. Others, less rare but nonetheless uncommon, were carriers—immune to the symptoms, but unable to destroy the virus, and thus still able to spread it. These were as dangerous, if not more so, than the zombies themselves. But the vast majority of the human population was not immune to any degree. By the end of 2009, most of the United States, if not the world, had been wiped out, whether turned to zombies or killed by them._

_Most of the survivors, whether immune or otherwise, fled, trying to escape their new predators. I, however, was an exception._

_My name is Garnet Blake. Three years ago, I had been a veterinarian, practicing in a small rural town in western Pennsylvania until CEDA called for my expertise. They placed me with a crack team of researchers on the east side of the state to study the zombies. But that team was destroyed, and, alone, I made a reckless decision. Using my knowledge of the behavior of wild animals, and the knowledge of the similarities between animals and these new creatures, I would tame some of the "special" Infected, those zombies who were further changed by the virus. Instead of fleeing or even fighting, I would throw my lot in with them in a desperate effort at survival._

_I succeeded better than I could ever have imagined…

* * *

_

The Colorado Rocky Mountains lay under their winter blanket, with only the rare bird song to break the quiet. Bare, skeletal branches reached to the clouded midday sky in a silent plea for life, for there seemed to be none now. This was a harsh winter, clinging with frozen claws, with no hint of the spring that was to come.

A fierce whistle pierced the silence. Garnet lowered her fingers from her mouth and tucked them back into the thick, wool-lined glove she'd pulled off, and glanced around the clearing in which she stood. Beside her, Blake wheezed and shifted his weight, rolling his good shoulder under the harness he wore. That harness was attached to the sled that carried all the Pack's supplies; he'd volunteered to pull it for the time being, letting Garnet have a break for the first time in days. Riding on top of the numerous packs and boxes was Caroline, wearing an oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants for additional warmth. She was sobbing as always, but quietly, with only the occasional whimper and sniffle to betray her.

Garnet was growing a little worried. This was the third day in a row that she had been forced to recall the Hunters after an unsuccessful hunt. They of course had an ample supply of trail-rations—jerky, granola bars and the like—but fresh meat for her carnivorous Pack was always preferable. She wondered, as she often did, if the zombies had proven to be more devastating to the animal kingdom than she'd initially assumed. After all, so many of the Infected strains were fast, and only those animals who were faster would be able to outrun them.

But perhaps not; perhaps it was just the equivalent of reintroducing the top predators after near-extinction at human hands. It wasn't as though Garnet would ever be able to do any research on the subject. She was more concerned with the immediate survival of her Pack.

The loose snow in front of them exploded in a flurry as three weights slammed into it from the branches above. She stood unfazed, however, as the snow settled again to reveal the other three members of the Pack. Lexi rose onto two legs and pawed at her hood to clear it of the chill flakes before they soaked through, then turned her face to Garnet. A soft whine escaped her throat, the confirmation of a failed hunt, and Garnet nodded, though she knew the Huntress couldn't see it.

"I know, Lexi, it's okay," Garnet assured her, though she knew Lexi didn't understand the words at all. "Good girl. And good boys, Chris, Jeremy." The other two Hunters growled acknowledgement and Chris rose onto two legs as well to move next to the redheaded human. Jeremy remained crouched beside his mate, though he still pulled his hands from the snow.

With the Pack gathered, Garnet took Blake's gloved hand (his only concession to the biting mountain cold) in her own and started forward. The three Hunters followed after her, all three now on two legs. They found it easier to move through the snow that way, although on clearer ground they would drop back to their preferred posture of all fours.

With no good hunting in this portion of the forest, it was time to move on. As they always had, they would find shelter for the night, and merely travel until they found a healthy territory. There they would settle until it was again time to continue.

So it had been for the last three years. But if the truth was to be told, Garnet wanted somewhere permanent to settle, a territory for the Pack to call its own. She hoped to find it here, in the Rockies; the National Park and its surrounding National Forests were almost pure wilderness, deep in the mountains, and so likely to be untouched, even this long after the end of the world. They didn't need a _lot_ of territory, after all, and they could push out other zombies if they needed to. They'd done it before.

"The only trouble is finding food," she murmured aloud to herself. Only Blake glanced down at her for a moment; the others ignored her words. She often spoke to herself, just for the sake of hearing a human voice. After the first year of it, they learned to disregard it.

That there was no good hunting to be found was worrisome. Even in the dead of winter the last two years, they'd been able to find _something_—a rabbit or two, perhaps, or a squirrel. Some sort of fresh meat that would at least temper her Pack's hunger. But here, there was nothing.

"Then again, the last two winters were spent in the flatlands. Pennsylvania and then Missouri. They were milder down there, and didn't drive the animals to wander father away from their usual territories."

Perhaps that was it. But perhaps there was something more. Garnet didn't know, and couldn't find out.

When the sky began to darken, she sent Chris out to find shelter. It didn't take him very long to return, and he led them to a small, cozy den in the stony mountainside just barely large enough for the six of them. There was no room for the sled, but she wasn't concerned; the twins were light sleepers, at least, and hungry enough that if any animal or another zombie came around, they would be awake instantly. Their supplies and stored food were safe.

Settling in for the night was a chore. She began with gathering wood for a fire, and then clearing a pit in front of the den for a fire. Once that was lit, she brought out a battered cooking pot and filled it with snow to heat and boil. Leaving that, she retrieved enough food from the packs on the sled to feed the six of them. For herself, she pulled out the nonmeat foodstuffs first, setting it out on top of a box. Then she laid out the jerky—which she'd made herself from the venison and beef the Hunters had brought down earlier in the year—for the others as well as her.

By the time they finished eating, the snow was boiling. Retrieving a ragged cloth and a bar of soap, she got to work on bathing each of the Pack. Beginning with Lexi, each of the Infected were stripped and washed, along with their clothing and the thick cloths that Garnet had been forced to delegate to serving as diapers. She only washed herself and her own clothing last and poured what little water remained a short distance away from the den.

When her chores were complete, it was dark. She banked the fire, and directed her Pack into the den. There, the six of them piled together to share warmth and comfort, as they did every night. By midnight, only Caroline remained partly awake, sniffling quietly.

* * *

The following morning was as dark and dreary as the previous, but even colder. Garnet was shivering when she woke, despite Blake's arms around her and the five bodies pressed against her. Caroline was sobbing in earnest, likely because she could finally feel the chill. Even the Hunters seemed in a foul mood for the cold. Only Blake remained unfazed, though the occasional involuntary shudder passed through him.

Garnet could see why the temperature had dropped, however, when they left the den. It had snowed during the night, and a fresh blanket covered the sled and the ashes of the night's fire. With a sigh, she got to work on the morning's chores. However, due to the chill temperature, she skipped much of them, including the bathing; the only time she stripped the Infected was to change and wash their cloth diapers.

They were moving again by midmorning, Blake once more pulling the sled. The skies were still gray, and Garnet wondered if they were in for a blizzard. Though she couldn't yet entirely read the mountain weather and predict it accurately, she _had_ learned that sudden blizzards were common here. In that light, she wondered if it was wise to turn back and once again take shelter in the den.

Chris had been scouting ahead, as he often did. As Garnet was debating, he let out an alert-cry, startling her from her thoughts. The sound wasn't urgent, as though he'd encountered another predator, nor was it a hunting-cry, but he'd found _something_. She picked up her pace as Lexi and Jeremy bounded ahead to investigate, and caught up with the three of them moments later.

Immediately, she saw the reason Chris had called. There, in the snow, were footprints.

"No…not footprints. _Boot_prints." Garnet crouched over them to get a closer look. They were deep, and twice as wide as her own; whoever made them was large, but not so large as a Tank or a Charger. Even more striking was their evenness; no zombie's gait was ever so smooth as to make these. No matter the strain, there was at least a little stumbling, a little limping, a little zig-zagging in their path, just like any animal.

These were _human_ footprints. They weren't new; they were half-filled, including the previous night's snowfall, which meant they were at least a few days old. But they were still human.

Garnet reeled back as though struck, catching herself just before she toppled backward into the snow. Humanity! This far into the mountains! Their presence explained much about why there'd been no luck in hunting, and why the Pack hadn't seen another zombie for weeks. If the humans had been here for a long length of time, they'd have driven out the animals just by being there, and they'd have actively hunted down and destroyed the zombies in as wide a radius as they could have managed.

The Pack hadn't encountered very many humans in the last three years after Jeremy had joined. Garnet had always been careful to avoid anything that would resemble a settlement, and led them in a wide berth around smaller signs of humanity. The few encounters they _did_ have often ended in that human's death—either because the person had tried to ambush one of the Pack, or would refuse to leave them be, despite her requests for peace. It was rare when she didn't need to give the command to kill.

A questioning wheeze from Blake brought her back to the present. She smiled up at him, and stood again, brushing snow from her legs. Looking down one more time at the footprints, she made her decision—the same decision she always made when faced with her own kind.

"Here, Hunters," Garnet said sharply, and turned away, starting back the way they'd come. Immediately, the three she called joined her, though Lexi whined inquisitively. Garnet smiled at the Huntress, and reached over to scratch her head through her hood, eliciting a pleasurable growl from her.

"Don't worry, girl. Maybe we'll have better luck the next mountain or two over..."

* * *

_**Author's Notes:** Aaaaaaaaaand we're back, folks! Great to see you all again. I apologize profusely for that unannounced hiatus; between the end of the semester, _World of Warcraft: Cataclysm_'s release, and just plain old writer's block, I just wasn't up to writing anything, let alone this first chapter of _FtD_'s sequel._

_Yes indeed, folks-the sequel at long last! The further adventures of the Home Sector Pack! New friends, new enemies, aaaand possibly some more fluff. XD I know the title's a bit out of left field, but it'll make more sense later, I promise._

To those of you new to my writing, welcome! I encourage you to read my story From the Desk_ before continuing on with this one._

Next chapter to come likely after the weekend. Or something.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Blake**_

Through his single eye, Blake watched the legs of the thin, frail elk in the copse of trees ahead. They were shaking, and would collapse easily if tripped. He wheezed quietly, but in the silence of the winter forest, it rang as loud as a brass bell; the elk's head shot up, and its ears twitched. Fortunately, however, it was so starving that it was reluctant to leave the patch of dormant tallgrass that had been sheltered from much of the winter snows by low-hanging evergreen branches. Its hide shuddered visibly as its instincts to flee warred with its gnawing hunger. That was all Blake needed.

Taking in a deep breath, he planted his feet and shot out his tongue. Wrapping it around the elk's leg, he began to withdraw it, throwing back his head to add extra tension on the appendage. The animal was too weak to pull away, and its leg was pulled out from under it. It fell, toppling onto its side, and then it was over.

As soon as the animal was down, a loud shriek echoed through the trees and a red blur streaked past the Smoker. He let go of the elk's leg as Lexi slammed into the downed animal, and began tearing into its flesh with her claws. He watched as she clawed it, snarling viciously and hungrily, and his stomach rumbled insistently. Two more blurs, one red and one blue, slammed into the dying animal, and fur and blood were sent flying.

In a few more moments, it was dead, and its heart was devoured by the three Hunters. That was all they ate, however; despite their own hunger, they knew that the Matriarch had first rights to the kill, but she was back with their Witch-sister. So once the heart was gone, the three of them crouched or sat on top of the carcass to guard it from scavengers—after all, the fresh blood-scent would likely attract carrion-eaters and other starving predators for as far as the wind would carry it. That left Blake to retrieve his mate.

As Blake turned to make his way back to where he'd left their Matriarch, he paused, lifting his tongue to the chill wind. He thought he could taste something there—another zombie, not of the Pack. A low growl escaped his throat, eliciting a cough; he recognized the taste of his own strain. Another Smoker was around—and for the time being, this was _his_ territory. This other one was intruding. Instinct demanded that he defend what was his.

So he started off in the direction in which he tasted the rival Smoker, wheezing and hacking as he moved. He noticed that it was the same direction in which he and the Hunters had come, back toward his mate and Caroline. Concern began to rise in his ruined mind—concern that the rival was after something other than territory. He picked up his pace, though it was still slow going in the snow that was almost to his knees.

When Blake neared the temporary camp his mate had built while she awaited his return, he heard a scream. For a split second, he felt the chill knife of fear stab through him—fear that Garnet had been snared. But then he realized that the scream wasn't human—at least, it was just short of human. Instead, it was the banshee wail of a Witch, with an undertone of rage. It was, in fact, the same sort of killing-cry a Witch would make when startled. Though his pace didn't slow, he felt a wave of relief—Caroline had come to Garnet's defense.

He arrived at a grisly scene. Caroline was covered in the olive-tinted blood of a Smoker, her claws dripping with it. She was wailing, holding her hands to her head, and Garnet was already trying to calm her. The human woman had her arms around the Witch, one hand petting the Infected girl's hair. The length of a Smoker's tongue was still draped around her shoulders and waist, ignored for the time being. Opposite the both of them, close to Blake's feet, lay the corpse of that tongue's owner, five long gashes exposing its innards.

What confused Blake the most was the thick green cloud that hovered between two trees behind the pair. It tasted of the Smoker at his feet—but the cloud was over there, and the dead zombie was here. How was it able to still give off smoke? He knew that Witches were often strong enough to kill their prey in one deadly blow, and as a result, fling their corpses several feet—that was what had happened here, he was sure. But then where did that smoke come from?

He was unable to make the connection, but he was sure Garnet would. Wheezing a soft inquiry, he extended his tongue to settle around both his mate and Caroline. Though she didn't jump, Garnet had been so absorbed with calming the Witch again—and keeping her from running off after this kill—that she hadn't heard or seen Blake arrive. That spoke volumes to him of how shaken up she was, and he came forward to wrap an arm around her. He used his tongue to remove the dead Smoker's, sneering reflexively at the taste.

She spoke, but as usual he couldn't wholly understand her words. He understood what she meant to convey, however; that she was all right, unhurt, and that he needn't worry. Snorting, he held her tight for a moment anyway, reassuring _himself_ that she was fine. She laughed when he released her, a sound he found quite pleasant, and set about breaking up camp. Mostly, she needed only to kick snow over the tiny campfire she'd built, and strap herself into the harness of the sled while Caroline clambered on top of it. When she was ready, she gestured back the way Blake had come, indicating for him to take the lead.

He did just that; although he started off slow to let Garnet catch up to hike beside him. Blake looked down at her, moving his tongue to flick teasingly at her cheek. She laughed softly again, lifting a gloved hand to wave it away. She seemed much happier now that the hunting was better. Before now, ever since, three days ago, Chris had found the human footprints in the snow, she had been sad, and seeing her sad made him angry.

When he was angry, he wanted to hang something off the highest cliff, feeling it struggle for life in his tongue's noose. It was an exhilarating feeling, but for some reason, another, sourer emotion came over him, one that he couldn't name. That emotion came every time he killed a human or zombie, and he hated it. He tried to avoid killing anything like him or like Garnet, but when he was angry, that other emotion was overcome…at least for a little while.

But at any rate, his mate was happy again, and therefore, so was he.

They had found themselves on the next mountain over from Chris's discovery. That had been far enough away from the humans' lair—wherever that was—that the hunting was better. Of course, that meant the competition had returned, too; but so far, there had been nothing to worry them. The Smoker that Caroline had killed (_must_ have killed) had been the biggest threat, and then only to Garnet.

Blake heard scuffling and snarls from the clearing in which the Hunters were awaiting them. That meant that starving scavengers had found the elk, too, and wanted a share of it. As he came through the trees, he could see that their opponent was a half-starved mountain lion, driven by hunger to steal a bite or two from the Infected, against its better judgment. Already, the cat had a dozen scratches in its hide from the twins' claws, and Jeremy was on its back; Blake couldn't see precisely what he was doing, but his head was down, likely gnawing on the animal to get to its spine.

That guess was confirmed when the cat suddenly froze and collapsed into the snow a moment later. Jeremy, his mouth stained with blood, leapt off of it and back onto the elk, where he crouched protectively. The twins circled the mountain lion until it died, and then Lexi joined her mate atop their kill while Chris trudged to Garnet's side.

"Good boy, Chris," Garnet said, reaching over to scratch his head through his hood. The phrase was one of few that Blake really understood.

Shooing Lexi and Jeremy from atop the elk, Garnet unhooked herself from the sled and retrieved the long knife she used to skin and cut their meals. She removed her gloves, tucking them under her thick coat, and got to work. Blake watched his mate as she peeled the hide from the elk, hacked off its head and hooves, and cut most of the meat into portions. He occasionally snuck out his tongue to snag a piece of meat that she missed, bringing it to his mouth and letting it slide down his gullet whole. When she chose to scold him, he merely grinned at her, unrepentant.

By the time Garnet had finished, there was little left but bones. Only a small bit of meat remained on the elk, the rest either stored in the hard box Garnet kept, or disappeared into the Pack's stomachs. What was left would still feed the scavengers for at least a day, perhaps two if they were all small, and that was in addition to the mountain lion stiffening nearby. Blake was reluctant to let so much food go to waste, but his mate didn't seem inclined to take it, so he let it be.

Once they were all fed (Garnet included, as she took her meal once she was finished with the elk), they moved on. Just in time, too; Blake could taste the scents of a dozen different animals approaching the site. He was confident that the Home Sector Pack could take on anything, of course, but there was nothing there worth fighting over. Especially since it was getting dark; behind the clouds, the sun was dipping below the mountains, and night was coming on fast.

Night had long since fallen, and the wind had picked up significantly, before Chris finally managed to scout out a cave for the Pack. It was empty, and actually large enough for the sled to fit. The Pack filed in gratefully, each of them shaking snow from their limbs. Garnet hurriedly freed herself, stretching her arms and rolling her shoulders. She looked pained; it was that look that made Blake want to pull the heavy supplies instead. But she always insisted on strapping _herself_ in whenever he started to struggle with the harness. It was irritating.

As his mate set about with the evening chores, Blake moved away from the rest of the Pack, and lifted his tongue to taste the air. A hint of fresh air indicated that there were gaps in the roof; that was good, because then Garnet could make fire. There was also the scent of guano—the cave was deep enough that bats lived in it, although they were all out hunting now. It was not, however, so deep that it was a part of a maze; he couldn't detect the dank air that usually came with such a cave. He was mostly thankful for that; the last time they'd encountered a system, Caroline had started wandering through them, and it had taken most of the day for the Hunters to track her down and lead her back.

Caroline was in love with the caves, though. She would meander as far back as she could once Garnet released her for the evening, sniffling and tracing her claws along the stone wall. Then she would settle in the darkest place, pressing against the chill surface, and merely sit and watch the rest of the Pack, with only an occasional whimper and her fearsome red eyes to give away her position. It was as close to happiness as the Witch ever got, and no one begrudged her that—not even the Hunters, who would often prod at her to join them in their roughhousing while outside.

Blake returned to Garnet's side just as Caroline was starting to wander the cave. This was a good home, he thought; it was large and fairly deep compared to others they'd found. That meant shelter from the winter storms, the only times he really felt the cold. With the fire burning, Garnet had actually pulled off the top layer or two of her winter gear. He was very happy to see that; that meant they'd be that much closer when the Pack settled for the night.

After all, Blake liked to be as close to his mate as possible.

When all the Pack had been taken care of, when everything was washed, dried, and put away, Blake moved to settle near where Caroline was resting against a stalagmite. But Garnet called his name, and when he looked back, he saw she had pulled out the old bedding used in their more permanent settlements. He grinned wide; she'd had the same thought he did, then! He waited while she set it up in a corner, helping her when she gestured to something and said his name. When it was ready, she pulled off most of the rest of her winter gear, until she had only the one layer.

Almost immediately, she started shivering, but Blake was ready. He settled at the head of the "bed," making himself comfortable. Then he pulled his mate into his arms, letting her pull the covers around herself while he held her. She laid her head in the crook of his left arm, her face pressed into his coat. Once they knew he and his mate were settled, the Hunters moved in as well. Chris curled up on the bed on one side of Garnet, and Lexi and Jeremy twined together on the other. After several moments of laying like that, Caroline finally came to join them, cuddling up to Blake's side.

Then, one by one, each of the Pack drifted off to sleep, contented in one another's presence.

* * *

**_Author's Notes:_**_ Another boring chapter, with very little action-although from a new perspective. But rest assured, the real story will begin next chapter, from yet another perspective-and one I think you folks might enjoy!_

I realize I'm taking a page out of George R. R. Martin's book, so to speak, in putting each individual chapter in different characters' PoVs. Call it an experiment, if you will, but I like that style. Although, I'm writing it differently than Mr. Martin in that I'm moving in chronological order, instead of jumping around as he does. I hope I'm forgiven!

As a quick reminder, pictures of the Home Sector Pack are featured in my profile. There's some amazing talent in there, so even if you're not interested in me, you can at least check out the other artists. :)

Finally, if you're also waiting for other fics, such as Hunter Red_, don't fret-with the start of the new semester comes a lot of free time. (I know, how much sense does _that_ make?) So keep an eye out!_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Caroline**_

Tiny flakes of snow drifted down from the slate-gray skies. They landed delicately on the lone Witch that wandered in the silent mountain forest. Caroline hardly felt them, just as she hardly felt the winter chill. She sloshed through the deep snow, leaving a trail of long footsteps behind her. She was alone, wandering as instinct demanded.

It was a week almost to the day that the Pack had been in the cave Chris found for them. Nothing bothered them; zombies avoided the scent of the Witch, and animals avoided the zombies altogether. Not even the food supplies that Garnet-Mama kept were enough to tempt any scavengers into trying to steal from three Hunters, a Smoker, and a Witch. With everything so peaceful, and the Pack settled, Caroline's instinct took her. One night, while all were asleep, she left the cave.

Caroline didn't think she'd go very far, perhaps only a day or so out in any direction. She could remember, vaguely, her previous patterns before Garnet-Mama found her; that figure-eight loop she used to wander in the city. Perhaps, if the terrain allowed, she would try to take up that pattern again. The cave would be at the center of that figure-eight, of course; now that she had her Pack, she couldn't leave them for very long.

Until Garnet-Mama had found her, those thoughts hadn't been conscious. Caroline would follow wherever instinct took her, not thinking about where she was going. She might have wandered in a straight line out of the city, had it not been for her Hunter siblings; she didn't make the conscious decision to loop back to see them again, but she enjoyed their company, and her wandering back to their territory formed the figure-eight pattern.

Caroline could never express just how grateful she was that Garnet-Mama had found her, but it was a gratitude that buried much of the ever-present sorrow. These days, almost none of her reflexive sobs were accompanied by tears. She would only truly cry if she was in pain, physically or emotionally—and that was rare for the Witch, surrounded by her Pack as she was.

As she moved along through the snow, stumbling on the occasional large rock, Caroline became aware that she was moving downhill. She chanced a peek from behind her bony claws; the light made her wince, but she actually fought back the tears for once—they'd only be temporary anyway. Through the trees, she could make out a broken line in the snow ahead of her—a stream of sorts. The water was mostly frozen over, so she couldn't hear it over her sobs, but it was something to follow.

So as soon as she reached it, Caroline turned at the bank, and began meandering down the frozen water-trail into the valley between mountains—the same mountain from which the Pack had moved nearly a week before.

As night fell, Caroline was able to take her hands from her face and truly see where she was going. She had reached the valley proper, and not too far ahead, there was a dark wooden fence blocking her path. A curiosity she hadn't felt before Mama found her welled up inside, and she approached the fence, tapping at it with her claws. Following it with her eyes, she spotted the gate some distance away. But she was confused; the gate seemed to open into an empty field; the only building was on the opposite side, closer to Caroline. It was long and rectangular, with two sets of large doors. One opened into the field, but the other opened into a smaller, enclosed area.

That was when she heard it. The sound was unlike anything she'd ever heard before; it sounded, to her, like a cross between a Charger's lowing, killing howl and a Jockey's cackle. It was alien—and instantly, she wanted to know what sort of creature made it.

Peering down at the fence with a sniffle, Caroline raised her right hand, flexing her claws. Then, with all her strength, she brought them down in what would be a fatal blow to a living thing. The sharp, bony appendages sliced through the damp, partly rotted wood like hot knives in butter, and the two logs collapsed onto the ground, allowing the Witch to step over them and into the field. Immediately, she started toward the building, from which that strange _baa_ing emanated.

She was upwind of the building, and so as she neared it, the sounds grew louder and more frequent. When she reached the door, she could hear a low growling, almost similar to that of her siblings. But the scent that reached her nose didn't smell of anything similar to a zombie. In fact, she dimly recalled a similar scent from the city. She cut through the door as she had the fence, letting the pieces topple to the ground, and chaos exploded around her.

There was a sea of white fluff before her that refused to stop moving. The strange lowing-cackle came from that sea, and Caroline caught the occasional glimpse of a black head here or there. She realized, slowly, that this was a herd of animals, but animals wholly unfamiliar to her. But she had only a few moments to reflect on that before a black-and-white shape separated itself from the sea of fluff and launched itself at her. She shrieked in surprise as she was nearly knocked over, and long jaws closed on her wrist through the thick, overlarge sweater.

When Caroline glanced down, she could feel a slight ache from the wound on her arm. She could see the blood that slowly trickled to her claws and slowly spread in the sweater. The dog's snarling grew louder even than the fluffy animals' bleating, and when she looked over to it, she could see its sharp teeth bared. A second dog's voice joined the first, and she turned slowly to see a second black-and-white shape fling itself at her. A second wound appeared, this time staining her loose, baggy sweatpants.

Caroline panicked. She wasn't used to seeing the sight of her own blood—it wasn't often that anything tried to mark a Witch. The pain was minimal; like any Infected, that sense was deadened, though not eliminated, when the virus changed her. Knowing that she was hurt, knowing that she was bleeding, frightened her.

The fear overwhelmed her. Caroline let out a piercing shriek, and swung her hands with all her strength. She felt her claws connect with the animals, even though she was near-blind with terror. She slashed and slashed, until the growling and the struggling stopped. By the time she became fully aware again, the dogs were very, very dead, their blood splattered on the wooden walls and their intestines poured over the building floor.

That was enough for the fluffy animals to stampede. The blood-scent was overwhelming, and it sent them into a blind panic not unlike Caroline's. They fled through the open door, and the sheer number of bodies knocking against her legs toppled Caroline to the ground. She screamed again, covering her head with her bloody claws to shield herself from the animals' sharp hooves. More scratches appeared on her skin, and tears in her clothing, but she felt neither; all she knew was the sound of the thudding hooves on the hay-covered wooden floor, and the reverberation of their movements.

After several moments that felt like eternity, they were gone. Caroline chanced a look between her claws, and saw the last few disappearing into the woods surrounding the pasture. Slowly, she pulled herself to her feet. She realized she was sobbing, tears streaming down her cheeks. This time, she didn't try to fight it, and instead let herself cry as she chanced another look down at the mutilated dogs.

The sight of their intestines poured over the floor made her stomach roil. Knowing that she was responsible for their deaths flooded her with guilt. Dogs or not, she hadn't intended to kill them; she _never_ intentionally took a life, not unless she was starving. She couldn't stay here any longer.

With a wail of despair, Caroline fled the building, back into the night the way she had come.

Caroline returned to the Pack late the next afternoon, still sobbing. Her clothing was soaked through, as close to dawn she had tried to rinse off the dogs' blood before returning to the Pack. Her twin siblings were still able to smell it, though, and when she trudged into the cave, they were clambering over her to investigate. Lexi's mate Jeremy joined them after several moments, when Garnet-Mama released him from finishing his cleaning.

"Now where did you get to, Caroline?" their Matriarch said, standing to dispose of the soiled cloths the Hunters had been wearing.

_I think I did something bad,_ Caroline wanted to say, but as always, her mouth wouldn't obey her mind. Her words came out garbled and unintelligible when she tried to speak. To at least convey her distress, she sobbed loudly, letting her tears show. Garnet-Mama instantly realized her anguish, frowned softly and waded through the curious Hunters to embrace her. Caroline held tightly to the human woman, burying her face into her shoulder.

After several minutes of rocking and doing her best to comfort Caroline, Garnet-Mama finally coaxed her into the warmer part of the cave in order to give her a thorough wash with the water heated for just that purpose. The bath made Caroline feel better. Her tears faded, though she still whimpered and sniffled as always. She was dressed in fresh clothing, and left to curl in the darkest corner, watching the others.

Blake-Papa, tasting her tears and the traces of the dogs' blood on the air, came over to her after he woke from his nap. Crouching, he wheezed inquiringly at her, and she sniffled in reply. She didn't attempt to explain; she learned long ago that he couldn't understand her any better than Garnet-Mama could. Instead, she cuddled against his tumored left side, and he settled his arm and his long tongue around her.

They remained there until the evening, when Garnet-Mama called them for dinner. Caroline ate gratefully, the food helping to lighten her dark mood. By the time the Pack settled together for the night, she was feeling herself again, and burbling happily between tear-less sobs as, one by one, they each drifted off to sleep.

But when morning came, none of them woke again.

* * *

_**Author's Notes:** Once again, I apologize for the delay in this chapter. I've been lacking motivation in writing these days. Really, it's lack of motivation in anything except playing League of Legends or World of Warcraft. I have no excuses-I'm just terrible at keeping up any semblance of a schedule. So I hope you guys forgive me!_

_So yes, I leave you with a cliffhanger. Things will get a little more exciting from here!  
_


	4. Chapter 4

**Initiate #26-5-4**

"_You know, I'm not going to be held responsible for what I do for you if you screw this up."_

_He withdrew his remaining knight from the enemy queen's path, peering up at his mirror image. The stark white wall behind _him_ put _him_ in silhouette; _his_ narrow face was hidden. But he didn't need to see it to know that _his_ hair was a brown so dark it was nearly black, or that _his_ eyes were a lighter brown and the almond shape that hearkened back to _his_ Asian descent. He didn't need to see _him_ to know that _he_ looked exactly like him. "You're so sure I'll fail, aren't you?"_

He_ smirked, and shifted _his_ queen to take another of his pawns. "Oh yeah. I'm pretty damn sure. Talking from experience here."_

"_Hey, those first times were circumstantial."_

"_Who's to say it won't happen again?"_

"_What do _you_ know?"_

"_Quite a bit, kid. Oh, and check."_

_He moved his king out of harm's way. "Stop calling me kid."_

"_Sure. When you grow up."_

_His queen moved. "Check."_

_As _he_ moved _his_ king, _he_ knocked the pawn next to it to the ground. "King takes pawn,"_ he_said, but the raspy version of his voice reverberated around the room as it hadn't before. His eyes were turned to the pawn. Its impact with the floor echoed around the narrow room, each blow thudding in his brain—_

—until he snapped to consciousness, the insistent pounding on his door punctuating the demands of Sergeant-Templar Killbane. He scrambled out of his narrow, flat bunk, flinging aside the thin covers to rush across the small room to throw open the door. The Templar towered over him; so did most of the other Crusaders—the initiate was slightly shorter than average at five-foot-eight—but Killbane was especially huge, seeming as wide as he was tall. Hairy, too; he may well have been sired by a bear. He was also blurry; the initiate hadn't had time to put on his glasses.

"About time ya got yer lazy ass outta bed," the bear-man growled, glaring down at him with squinting, dark eyes. He was suddenly acutely aware of his sleep-ruffled dark hair, and his wrinkled sleepwear. "Get dressed and report to the holding pens." He turned to go, but then paused, glaring over his shoulder. "Arm yerself first. If I don't see you with a Kalashnikov when you get down there, I'ma beat you bloody."

Killbane left him blinking, for a moment stunned at the command. A gun? Him? They hadn't trusted him with anything more powerful than a taser since his accident in the armory a few weeks ago. Setting off a room full of training rifles didn't exactly endear him to the Crusade—so why would he be allowed a gun now?

_Wait. He said the holding pens. Where we keep any of the monsters we feel aren't too dangerous to hold. Does that mean—?_

Curiosity provided motivation, and he hurried to pull on his fatigues. As soon as he was dressed and presentable, he half-jogged through the base's spartan hallways to the armory. The Templar in charge, half Killbane's size and half as hairy, but just as surly, knew him on sight—mostly because he'd been the one to drag the initiate in front of Killbane after finding him face down on the floor with over seventy spent training rifles around him. He grumbled, but reluctantly issued the initiate an AK-47. He took it gratefully, pulling the weapon over his shoulder, and then turned to head underground.

Until now, the pens had been empty. For the most part, the Jade Crusade ordered all Infected kill-on-sight. They were monsters; inhuman, mindless killing machines. Only a few were worth keeping for research, at least for a little while, and they were the least dangerous—usually a common or two. Rarely would they bring in a Special Infected; if they did, it was only something like a Jockey or a Boomer, and those were slaughtered quickly after they served their purpose.

So as the initiate approached the heavy steel doors that sealed in the pens, the sounds that leaked through, muffled though they were, made him shudder with fear. They hit him in full force as the door slid open in response to his card-swipe, the shrieks and snarls seeming to pierce his brain. They were joined by the percussion of a Smoker's hacking and wheezing, and he shuddered again. Then the captives were in sight, and he froze.

In a large cage on the far wall, three Hunters stalked its length. The shrieks and snarls came from them; teeth bared, they turned their heads to him and growled. They seemed much cleaner than the Hunters he'd seen before; there wasn't any blood to speak of, and the clothing they wore was threadbare and patched, but not at all torn to shreds and hideously soiled. They weren't immaculate, but they weren't filthy, either, and that confused him.

He pulled himself away from their eyeless glare, and turned to another, smaller cage on the adjacent wall, from which several wires trailed—an electrified cage. Its captive glowered at him with a single eye, mostly hidden under a smoke-and-spore-stained Stetson hat that once was white. It lay lop-sided on his misshapen head, the tumorous mass that dominated the left side of his head and his left shoulder and arm almost shoving it to one side. Like the Hunters, he was as clean as he could possibly be, though he was perpetually surrounded by his spore cloud, and that, as evidenced by his hat, tainted everything. His clothing was patched but free of blood and nightsoil.

_They're being cared for,_ the initiate couldn't help but think. _They're being _cared for._ Who would _do_ that for these...monsters?_

A heavy hand on his shoulder made him jump, but he didn't need to turn to know who it was. Killbane's voice growled from what seemed a mile above him. "About time you showed up, greenie," he said, and moved around into the initiate's view. "Now listen. You gotta watch these shits and make sure they behave. We're only keepin' 'em because of how we found 'em—and no, you don't get to know that. If they even stick a _toe_ outta line, kill 'em. Got it?"

"Y-Yes, sir!" The initiate saluted smartly. Killbane only grunted in response and left. With a heavy sigh, he slumped into a nearby folding chair, facing the zombies, and slipped his weapon from his back to his lap. The Hunters snarled, backing away slightly from the line of fire, as though they were able to see where the muzzle was pointing; he gave them a curious look before a haunting wail sent through him a horrible chill.

In a cage beside the Smoker's, opposite the Hunters, a small, hunched shape slowly started to move, rocking back and forth. A soft sobbing started emanating from that shape, gradually increasing in volume until each sob was a terrifying wail. The initiate stared in growing horror as he realized that the fifth captive he was to guard was a Witch. She was much like her companions, in terms of cleanliness, her eyes and claws the only color of her otherwise pale appearance. Not that he could see her eyes; her hands were covering her face as she cried. She was dressed in a ratty old sweatshirt and –pants, its color faded with age to a dark grey.

He was horrified. Panic started to well in the pit of his stomach, and his grip tightened on his weapon. It was an instinctual reaction; the only other Witch he had ever seen had nearly killed him after he'd accidentally stumbled over her while fleeing from a Jockey, too occupied by his pursuer to notice what was ahead of him. It was only the Crusaders' intervention that saved him, and of course he still bore the fresh scars of that encounter. It took him months to recover, and as he did, each night, he saw that first Witch standing over him, her claws dripping with his blood, ready to deal the killing blow. Seeing this new Witch brought back those nightmares, and in his mind's eye, he saw her in place of the first—

_**Stop being such a little bitch**_, snapped _his_ raspy voice in his head. He yelped in surprise, lowering his weapon which he only now realized he'd raised to point at the Witch. _**She's **_**behind bars**_**, kid. She's not gonna be able to touch you.**_

"She can break through if she wanted to," he grumbled in response, glancing over at the Hunters. They were shrieking at him, but that died down to vicious growls when he took his hands off his weapon. A glance at the Smoker showed that the creature was lowering his deadly tongue. A thought flashed through his mind—_were they trying to protect her?_—before _he_ spoke again.

_**Moron. **_**Look**_** at her.**_ His eyes involuntarily turned to the Witch again. _**She doesn't want to. She doesn't give a shit that you're here. You're scared of nothing. Bitch.**_

He winced, but _he_ was right; the Witch merely sobbed, paying no mind to her surroundings, oblivious to his threat. Embarrassed, he leaned back in his chair, trying to swallow past the panic that was still caught in his throat.

Eventually, his fear began to fade, though the Witch continued to wail. He closed his eyes, starting to doze, but he was jolted awake again as one of the red Hunters batted at the blue, and then pounced at it. The blue defended itself with a yelp, and they started to wrestle, biting and slashing one another. Yet there was no bloodshed; most of the blows struck, but they didn't break the skin. At first, he was confused by their behavior, but slowly, the realization came to him: _They were playing_.

_Dear God in Heaven. They're _playing_. Like _cats._ Like they're...they're animals, not monsters._

He watched them in amazement as they pounced and swatted at one another. The third eventually joined them, leaping onto the other red Hunter as it was gnawing on the blue's shoulder, and all three of them started rolling, biting, swiping. He even found himself chuckling slightly when the smaller red Hunter tried to pounce on the larger, but the larger ducked at the last minute, letting the first slam face-first into the bars. It wasn't hurt, but it did sit back in a mild daze, as though wondering what just happened, before rejoining the scuffle.

_If only the Crusade knew this..._

But no. The Jade Crusade had been formed in response to the apocalypse brought on by the Green Flu, an effort to establish God's law and order in a post-apocalyptic world. The zombies were as demons, abominations before God, to be killed on sight; any who even carried the disease were tainted, in the eyes of the Crusaders, and _anything_ tainted was destroyed. If there was the slightest suspicion that a person was diseased, carrier or otherwise—

The initiate shuddered. He hadn't willingly joined the Crusade. He'd been conscripted after that squad of Templars killed the Witch that nearly killed him. Out of gratitude and a sense of survival, he'd conceded, submitting to Killbane's command and accepting his role as an initiate. It was certainly better than how he'd lived before, wandering alone—but how _much_ better was still up in the air.

_**Especially since there's a nice big chance you can fuck it up again,**_ _he_ commented sardonically. The initiate pointedly ignored _him_.

Life with the Crusade was not much different than a true military experience. God was far, _far_ more prominent, however; a full protestant service each Sunday, grace before meals, prayer before each mission. Each Templar sent into the field went with the priest's blessing, and Killbane's. All was by God's will; He was the only authority, and the Crusade enforced it. The initiate wasn't sure how much he liked that; oh, certainly, he was born and raised with Christ, but he also believed in free will. The Crusade, it seemed, did not.

With a sigh, he settled deeper into his chair. Life here wasn't terrible. He was safe, he was warm, and he was fed. That was more than he had when he was alone. Plus, he was of _some_ use; whenever anything mechanical broke down, he'd been the first on which to be called to repair it. Perhaps not so much anymore, not after the training rifle incident; but with this new assignment, he was back in a somewhat decent position.

After a while, he fell into an uneasy dose. Each sound the Infected made brought him back to consciousness again, and he watched them for a moment before he drifted again. The Hunters soon settled in a pile in a corner of their cage, with the larger red one on top of the blue one, and the smaller red curled in a ball against them. The Smoker's cage was built into the wall, so he rested against the only non-electrified barrier of his prison. The Witch remained as she was, face buried in her claws, oblivious to everything.

He was later awoken by another initiate entering the pens. He sat up quickly, straightening the rifle on his lap. As he spotted the tray of food in the other man's hands, he realized how hungry he was; he hadn't had time for breakfast, and it was likely well past lunch. He accepted the tray gratefully, setting aside his weapon in order to settle the food on his lap instead. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the Hunters sitting up attentively, but he ignored them as grace was said over the meal.

The other initiate didn't, however, and after grace, he took a step back, away from them. "Oh, wow. We sure as hell hit the jackpot, didn't we?"

"With these guys? Yeah, I guess we did," he replied, cutting into the Salisbury steak first. "They're scary as hell—especially that Witch."

The other man—Number 2-9-12-12—grinned down at him. "Ha. Yeah, I remember how we picked you up. You holding up all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He took a moment to chew. "I'm curious, though—why're we keeping them? Why haven't we shot them yet?"

The second initiate, or Two-Nine, blinked at him. "What? You don't know?"

"Dude, you know no one tells me anything."

Two-Nine snorted and slapped his shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. Okay, listen, the reason we're keeping these guys? They came with a woman. Human, and not even Infected or a carrier as far as we can tell."

The initiate stared at Two-Nine, his food forgotten. In his head, _he_ perked up as well. "Wait-wait-wait. A _woman_? A _human_ woman?"

"Yeah. A gorgeous little redhead, too. Little old for my tastes, but hey, gotta take what ya got, y'know? We got her where she ought to be, somewhere upstairs. God, it'll be great to have a woman keeping house again!" Though Two-Nine babbled on, the initiate was no longer listening. Instead, he stared down at his food, trying to process what he'd just heard.

_These Infected look like they've been cared for by someone, and they came in with a woman,_ he thought. _That woman—logic dictates she was the one caring for them. So many questions..._

Eventually, noticing that the initiate wasn't paying attention, Two-Nine clapped him on the shoulder again and left. That shook him from his stupor and he waved nonchalantly at the man's back. He took another few bites of his steak before noticing the Hunters again. They were crowded at the bars of their cage nearest him, their hidden, empty eyesockets fixed on his food, he was sure. The smaller red one was even drooling a bit. He glanced down at his steak, then back up at them.

A thought passed, and he was acting on it before he even knew what he was doing—and _without_ _his_ influence, too. He brought up a piece of steak between thumb and forefinger, lifting it over his head. The Hunters' heads turned up with his motion, and down again when he lowered his hand. The larger red one licked its lips. Taking a chance, he lifted the meat again, and tossed it into the cage.

There was a flurry of activity. All three of the Infected scrambled after it like dogs, claws scraping on the cold cement floor. The large red one turned out the quickest, though, snatching up the piece in its claws and popping it into its mouth, snarling at the other two as it chewed. With that gone, they returned to the bars, "looking" intently at him again. He cut another piece, tossed it into the cage, and smirked slightly as the same thing happened again.

_Pack structure, then—like wolves. The biggest and strongest as the alpha. That large one is said alpha. And they're begging for food, like they're used to being fed. That woman Two-Nine talked about must be behind that. Which means they're probably starving right now._

He hesitated, of course. There was no actual _rule_ against it—it was mostly assumed that everyone in the Crusade abhorred the Infected, so the notion of feeding them was inconceivable. And there was the added danger of what they would do if he got close to them; if he got in reach, they could very well slaughter him even behind bars. But...

_If, in fact, they're…well, _tame_, then they probably won't hurt me. Probably._

His curiosity won over his caution, and he cut off half of the remaining steak. Then he stood, setting the tray on his chair and leaving his rifle braced against it. Then, with the steak, he approached the Hunters' cage, watching them carefully. They hissed, just as cautious, but their hunger obviously won out over their own fear (if, in fact, they actually _felt_ any), and remained by the bars as he came closer. A warning wheeze to his right made him look over; the Smoker was on his feet, clenching his fists with his tongue waving dangerously. The initiate gulped, panic rising—but an instant later, he remembered the electrified bars, and relaxed slightly. The Smoker seemed to realize his predicament, too; he glowered, growled and coughed, but didn't do anything more.

Returning his attention to the Hunters, the initiate lifted the meat over his head, smirking again as the Hunters' heads turned upwards, and the smaller red one let out a squawk. Then, at last, he tossed in the half-steak, and the Hunters immediately burst into action. Just as with the smaller pieces, the three of them scrambled to the food, and, once again, the largest took the prize. But the smaller red and the blue both whined pathetically, and, reluctantly, the alpha tore off smaller pieces to fling at its companions.

That stunned him. He stared for several moments, trying to process what he'd just seen. That one simple act, the act of sharing, was so _deliberate_, so _human_, that his brain was having trouble aligning it with previous experiences and what he was taught by the Crusade. Slowly, very slowly, the idea that they _weren't_ the mindless killers he'd thought they were took root. He backed away from the cage, picking up the tray before sitting down hard in his chair.

Mechanically, he finished off the rest of his food, not even tasting it. His thoughts chased one another around his head until he was relieved, not much longer after his world-shattering discovery. As he left, he barely heard the Templar's instructions to return early the next morning. He went to his bed confused, and not a little afraid.

After all, everything he thought he knew was wrong.

* * *

**_Author's__ Notes:_** _So. Hi guys. I hope you didn't forget about me. I didn't forget about you. Here's the fourth installment of _Rise of the Crusade. _I know it took me a long, long time to finish, and for that, I apologize profusely. I won't make excuses; you guys deserve better. Just know that I think I'm back in the swing of things...or at least I hope I am._

_Yes, this is a new character. No, I didn't really name him yet. Yes, it was on purpose. You'll find out more in the next chapter._

_Speaking of the next chapter, however...I will warn you that things will get a whole lot darker. There will be rape, there will be abuse. I'm going to have to change the rating when I upload it. I apologize if you're sensitive to these sorts of things-though I promise you, I _do not_ glorify it. There are not happy times ahead, so if you choose not to read from here on, thank you for coming this far, and I hope I at least satisfied your curiosity from the previous cliffhanger._

_Love you all. Until next time._

Also, also, I apologize for the spam. FFnet is just...crap now, apparently._  
_


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: So I think this chapter needs a disclaimer. Some very dark things are going to go down, and it'll be perpetrated by the organization I mentioned in the last chapter, the Jade Crusade. This paramilitary organization calls itself Christian, and worships the Christian God. However, I do not see them as, nor do I intend them to be, representative of the Christian faith. They are as Christian as the Westboro Baptist Church, if you catch my meaning. I know that a true Christian does not, nor should that person, act as these people do. So I ask politely that no offense be taken—but if you do take offense, please message me privately rather than leaving a public comment. Thanks. :)_

* * *

_**Garnet**_

The first thing Garnet noticed when she woke was that she was far groggier than she ought to have been for a full night's sleep. Her head was muddled, and her thoughts partly scattered until she gathered them up again. She sat up slowly, and the second thing she noticed became abundantly clear—she wasn't where she had settled for the night. Instead of in a cave with her Pack, she was instead in a windowless room that was, easily, the most _feminine_ she'd ever seen. The walls were painted a soft beige, lined with borders of pink flowers. The bed in which she'd lain was almost horrendously cushiony, its thick, flowery sheets lined with lacy frills, and was headed and footed with metal twisted into floral designs.

She stared in disbelief and disgust. The whole room was pink, white and beige, in fact, and full of lace and flowers and Jesus Christ. Beside the bed was a nightstand with a lace doily, on which a small lamp and a Bible and a small framed picture of Mary and Jesus was placed. On the opposite side of the room, a hideous couch, printed with flowers like everything else, was set against the wall, above which a portrait of Christ hung. A coffee table sat squat in front of it, topped with lace like the nightstand. A small wicker basket sat in the center of the table, filled with balls of yarn and a pair of knitting needles. Magazines were scattered around it, with subjects like fashion, knitting, cooking, and other feminine occupations. There was a bookshelf on that same wall, and titles such as _How to Please Your Man_, and _The Proper Woman_ stood out to her, as well as another copy or two of the Bible.

Garnet stood up, out of bed, and found that she wasn't wearing what she had been the night before, either. Instead of her layered sweatclothes, she was dressed in a long, frilly nightgown—floral printed, of course—that extended below her knees and revealed absolutely nothing. She frowned down at herself, disturbed on several levels, not the least because she had been undressed and then dressed again by God-knew-who.

Anger began to rise. "This is ridiculous," she growled softly to herself. A large oak wardrobe, carved with Yet More Flowers, was set against the same wall as the bed. Moving to it, she flung it open, expecting her clothing to be hanging in it—but instead, it was filled from wall to wall by dresses. They were all long dresses, with some poofy and lacy, and others draping and unadorned. Their colors ranged from pink to white, and none seemed very revealing at all. Garnet stared at them in horror before slamming shut the wardrobe doors.

It was as though she'd suddenly been thrust back into the 1950's. She spotted a door just beyond the wardrobe; pushing it open, she found it was a bathroom. But it wasn't a bathroom that she'd ever seen except in, perhaps, the movies; her suspicion of time-travel grew stronger as she realized it looked straight out of the mid-century. The light grey tiles on the walls made the pink stand out—and it stood out _everywhere_. The squat toilet was a glossy pink, as were the curtains that surrounded the corner, three-sided tub. Pink linens hung on rods off the sides of the tall chrome sink stand, and more were folded in a cabinet above the toilet and beside the shower-tub.

"What on Earth?" Garnet could only stare, stunned, for a few moments before her anger rose again. She slammed the door shut, as she had the wardrobe, and stalked to a dresser on the other side of the bed, beside the nightstand. The underwear was huge, but lined with lace—again, straight out of a bygone era. Yet smallclothes, tights, and nightclothes were all she found; not a sign of her own salvaged clothing anywhere.

"Maybe they're still being washed," she murmured to herself. It seemed logical; she'd collected as much clothing as she'd been able, so there was quite a lot of laundry. If wherever she was operated as well as it had _Before_, in the Old Life, then whoever had brought her here—_stripped me, clothed me themselves—_was probably being thorough with each load, more than she'd been capable of, alone with her Pack in the wilderness.

Determined to find out her situation, Garnet resigned herself to dressing herself in the plainest dress she could find; it was white, and printed with salmon-colored roses falling from her right shoulder to the left hem, which was mirrored on the back. She pulled on her beige hose, slid on a pair of white heels, and started to the door.

As she approached the door, however, Garnet made her third realization: There was no handle to the door. Where the knob should have been, there was merely a flat slab of metal. She was trapped.

She didn't have time to contemplate it. Even as she stared at it, the door was unlocked and swung open to admit one of the largest men she'd ever seen. He was at least twice as big as she was, with broad shoulders and a heavy, muscular body under his military fatigues. His dark brown hair was short and thick, covering almost all of his head with only a small space allowed for his brown eyes, large, round nose, and thin-lipped mouth. He looked not unlike a bear, though Garnet was sure that comparison had been made of him numerous times before. When he spotted her, he smiled.

"Good, yer awake," he rumbled, making Garnet's assumption regarding his parentage even more likely. "I was hopin' I wouldn't hafta do it myself."

"I'm sure I'm lucky," Garnet replied, eyeing him warily. He wore numerous military decorations, but the most prominent was the jade-inlaid silver-tone cross backed with a gold-toned sunburst attached to his hat. A badge with the same motif was sewn onto his left shoulder. She swallowed her growing apprehension. "Thank you for your kindness and your accommodation, sir, but it was unnecessary."

"Actually, ma'am, I disagree." The large man stepped further into the room, forcing Garnet back a step to keep her distance. "It's a God-given duty to protect the weaker sex, and a woman alone in a world so dangerous? I'd be damned if I let 'er stay there."

_Oh no. Not one of these._ Garnet had known many men with the same mindset as this one, in the time Before. Those farmers and breeders hadn't thought her capable of treating their animals just because of her gender; it had taken her years to gain their trust, and that only because the only other veterinarian around was at least ten miles away, and the large animal vet was twenty miles away. She was unwilling to remain in this place long enough to do the same for this idiot; as of late, she'd lost any semblance of patience with humanity within the past few years of isolation.

"I appreciate your concern, sir," she said, stepping forward and trying to maneuver around him. "But I'm quite capable of taking care of myself. I have been for the past three years."

"Sorry, ma'am, but ya can't," the bear replied, easily blocking her path just by shifting his weight. "Yer just a woman; ya need a _man_ to take proper care'a ya. But not to worry, there're more'n enough men here to watch ya."

"Sir, please, I must insist." Garnet made a step to the other side, but he needed only to lean over that way in order to prevent her leaving. "I'm sure my Pack and I have imposed on your kindness long enough. We need to be going."

The bear's eyes narrowed, squinting under his heavy brows. "You don't know what you're doing. You're a _woman_. Stop pretending to be what you're not. You don't need to pretend anymore. Now be a good girl, do what I say, and sit down."

Garnet's eyes narrowed, but she knew she had no choice; she couldn't fight him, as he could easily overpower her. The only way out was behind him, and she couldn't just slip past him, and especially not in the way she was currently dressed. She doubted she was anywhere near her Pack, and even if she tried to call them, they could be hurt in trying to rescue her-judging by this bear's uniform, it was likely a military compound, and soldiers were the most dangerous.

_Are they even alive?_ niggled a voice in the back of her head, but she ignored it.

So, reluctantly, and with a glare to the man in front of her, Garnet slowly sat herself on the end of the couch furthest away from him. He smiled, satisfied, and closed the door most of the way behind him—though the lock bolt kept it from closing all the way. He seated himself on the opposite end of the couch, turned toward her, and folded his hands in front of him.

"Excellent. Now, I'm Sergeant-Templar Killbane, and this here's the home'a the Jade Crusade. We're God's army against those monsters out there that've just about wiped out humanity." He could likely see her growing anxiety on her face, because he chuckled. "No, no, don't worry, yer little pets are fine. We just have 'em caged up fer now. Findin' you with 'em made us curious, so we're gonna do a little bit'a research on 'em before we decide to do anything with 'em." She wasn't reassured, her memories of Jeremy's agony still fresh in her mind, but she swallowed her distrust; it wouldn't accomplish anything to be angry, at least not yet.

"May I ask why you're keeping me here, like this?" Garnet gestured to the rest of the room. "And why I can't leave?"

Killbane stared at her for a moment. "Guess yer gonna need to learn to function in decent society again," he said finally. "First rule: Women are seen'n not heard." Then he grinned warmly. "But I'll go easy on ya. We covered that, I think, though-it's 'cause we're keepin' ya safe, and where ya belong." Garnet took in a breath to speak, but he interrupted her. "Now, now, I know yer gonna say that you don't need it, but believe me, darlin', ya do. You don't know what's good for ya; ya need a man to guide you. Been proven time'n again that let a woman get into a man's world, she's lost. Can't happen.

"And with those demons out there killin' and taintin' every human they can get their claws on, we're gonna be an endangered species soon—unless we can repopulate. Now, you, a woman, got a God-given responsibility to continue our race. You're the first untainted lady we ran into in years, which means you gotta help us out." He paused there, letting his words sink in. Slowly, Garnet realized this man's intention, and the color drained from her face.

"You can't do that!" she exclaimed, shooting to her feet. "You can't force me to—to—"

"Now I hope it won't come to force, ma'am," Killbane replied much more calmly. He stood as well; ready to block her exit should it prove necessary. "It's what you're made for, after all; a woman's place in this world especially is to please her man and to continue the human species. I would'a hoped you'd realized it by now, after so long alone. But if you're going to be stubborn, well…" He trailed off, shrugging-but his hard expression said more than he spoke.

Fear stabbed through her, and Garnet took a step back involuntarily. She could only stare, her voice lost with her shock. Killbane took her silence as compliance, and he grinned, satisfied. "Good. Glad you understand. Now—" He took a step toward her, and she found her voice again.

"_No!_" Her fear galvanized her, and with a burst of what she later considered stupidity, she darted past him quicker than he could grab her, and tried to fling open the door. But it was heavy, from its own weight and the hydraulics that shut it automatically, and the delay in opening it cost her. Killbane grabbed the back of her dress, violently pulling her from the door and throwing her to the bed. She tried to scramble back onto her feet, but he was on her in an instant, pinning her with his weight.

"Nice try, missy, but yer not goin' anywhere." He leaned in close, and Garnet tried to wince away, twisting her face into an expression of disgust. His hold on her was painful, and she knew she'd have a new set of bruises on her upper arms. "Now, as a proper Christian, I'm not much'a one fer havin' a woman outta wedlock. But yer, what, fifty, now? I know you ladies stop bein' fertile after a while—better we get started sooner'n later, right? And like I said-yer the first untainted lady we seen in a long, long time. And as the leader, I get the first taste."

It wasn't until Garnet's dress was halfway down her shoulders that she realized what was happening. She screamed, trying to struggle, but Killbane was at least twice her size and strength. She couldn't wrestle herself free, couldn't escape; he held her pinned with one hand his other groped roughly at her exposed breasts. Her arms reached out, trying to find something, _anything—_

Garnet's hand closed on the lamp perched on the nightstand. Swinging with as much strength as she could muster, she struck Killbane in the head with the lamp, stunning him. It was enough; she was able to pull herself free and get out the door before he recovered. She could hear him bellowing, but blind panic drove her forward through the maze of the compound. Someone was screaming Blake's name, the Hunters' names, Caroline's name; it took Garnet several moments to realize that it was her voice she was hearing.

Thick arms closed around her, pinning her own to her sides. She was lifted off the ground, her feet kicking uselessly; she tried to strike back with a high-heeled foot, but though she hit home, it didn't seem to be very effective. Killbane grunted above her, and gave her a tight, warning squeeze; it was enough to tell her that he could very well crush her to death. She fell still, tears beginning to fall.

"Now, you ain't too clever, are ya? Typical woman," he grumbled as he started back to her prison. "You don't got a choice, babygirl. Yer our woman now, and yer gonna _act_ like it. It's yer God-given duty as a woman, and as a human being, and yer gonna live up to that duty."

As they returned to her gilded cage, he threw her back onto the bed. The lamp lay on the floor below, cracked but otherwise unharmed. She had only a moment to note that before he was on her again. Just as before, he held her pinned with his weight and one hand as he violated her. She couldn't fight him; she tried, but she couldn't move him, and he didn't seem to feel her blows. She soon gave up, laying still and ceasing to consciously respond. He seemed pleased at that, and he gentled his manhandling-though only slightly. But when he shoved himself inside of her, she screamed; the pain was overwhelming. So much so, in fact, that it seemed to lift her, pulling her away from her body. She felt numb and distant, as though what was happening to her body was happening to someone else.

She didn't know how long it lasted. There was no clock, no way to measure time in her cell. But by the time Garnet floated back down again, and the pain became real again, Killbane was sitting on the couch, watching her. She felt as though a layer of grime had settled over her skin; she shuddered involuntarily, and her stomach rebelled. She had only moments to make it to the toilet, but she managed to do so just in time. There she stayed, huddled over the seat, until Killbane came to retrieve her again.

"And that is how a proper woman should behave," he said. "Humble before a man, and submitting to his pleasure." He chuckled and crouched beside her, rubbing his hand over her back. She could feel her skin flinch at his touch, so that her back twitched as his hand moved along it. She could only whimper, unable to do any more.

When she felt stable enough, Garnet sat back again, and Killbane helped her to her feet. Surprisingly gentle, he led her back to the main room and settled her back on the bed. There, she huddled in on herself, hugging her knees and staring unseeingly at the foot of the couch. He sat within her line of sight, though she refused to look at him.

"Tomorrow, the chaplain will be here to retrieve you," he said after a few moments. "I want you dressed in yer finest—which you'll find in yer wardrobe, 'course. Then you'll be wed to the Crusade. Each man here's part of the whole, 'course, so marryin' ya to just one man don't make sense; that'd be like marrying every cell in yer body individually!" He laughed at that prospect. "So, once you're wed, you'll take on the duties of any good wife; you'll be in charge of the kitchen, of the laundry, and of the cleaning of this facility.

"Now, I know that yer just one woman, our _only_ woman, and this is a large facility; you'll help, but you won't be able to do _all_ of it, especially when there will well be a delay when a part of your husband will be taking you whenever he wishes. But all our initiates that'll be doin' these things'll be under yer discretion. Which means, 'course, if somethin' goes wrong, yer gonna be the one to take the fall." He stared at her, and though she couldn't see them—didn't _want_ to see them—she could feel his eyes on her. She shuddered, imagining the consequences he might have in mind. "Of course, I'm sure you'll figure out some way to…_encourage_ them to do well, now, won't ya?"

When Garnet didn't answer right away, Killbane chuckled softly. "Ah, well, yer gettin' there," he said, though there was a hint of disappointment in his gruff voice. "Anyway, darlin'…I'll let you get acclimated. You get today off, considerin' we just got ya, and you need to get started on learnin' how to live as a woman again. But after tomorrow, after yer weddin', yer goin' to be real busy." She heard him stand, and she flinched again as he put a hand on her shoulder and leaned in close.

"And by the way," he whispered hoarsely. "If ya tell anyone 'bout this? 'Bout me havin' my first taste, here? I don't care that yer our only woman—I'll kill ya." Garnet couldn't suppress the whimper of fear at his words, and it elicited a laugh from him. "That's it. There ya go. You take care of yerself now, babygirl. I'll see ya tomorrow." He patted her shoulder, and sidled out of the room. The door's heavy slam as it shut seemed to reverberate in her soul.

Garnet hugged her knees tighter, her whole body trembling. She fell onto her side on the bed, burying her face between her arms until she was a tight, huddled ball atop the covers. That was when the tears came, at last. She began to sob, screaming with deep, soul-shattering cries that rivaled even Caroline's. She thought she could hear the door opening, thought she could feel eyes on her, but she didn't care. She ignored it all, her grief and fear pouring out of her. Thankfully, she was left alone; no doubt thanks to orders from Killbane. At least that was one small blessing.

When at last her sobs died down, it was late into the night—or at least, she thought it was. Garnet was physically exhausted, and her whole body ached, not just her lower extremities. She managed to drag herself to the bathroom to shower and clean herself off. But though she scrubbed until her flesh was raw, she couldn't rid herself of the feeling of slime on her skin. She sat huddled under the water afterwards until it was cold, and even then for another hour, trembling as Killbane's assault replayed in her mind.

_What did I do to deserve this?_ The thought came, unbidden, and she couldn't ignore it. _Why am I a victim? What did I do?_

She had no answer.

Eventually, she pulled herself from the shower, and dried herself off. The towels were soft, but still made her skin crawl. She dried her hair and brushed her teeth, moving automatically and paying hardly any attention to her movements. She didn't even realize she'd dressed herself again until she was already in bed, the lamp returned to its place on the nightstand. With another shudder, she curled up under the covers, and softly cried herself back to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Initiate #26-5-4**_

The initiate had not been able to attend the wedding that tied him to a woman he didn't know. His duty, he found, was now only to watch the captive Infected. He was actually grateful; he felt _useful_ for once, perhaps more useful than he'd felt since he was conscripted. But it also meant long hours of doing _nothing_, more or less. His watch usually consisted of sitting and watching the Hunters play, avoiding the Smoker's glare and trying to ignore the Witch.

Of course, he couldn't ignore her while he was feeding her. But feeding was a job in and of itself. The Crusade itself only fed the Infected small bits and pieces, usually dog food or cat food, and that went ignored. So over the past few days, he'd taken to tossing in part of his own lunch. He'd tried, at first, to feed them something other than the meat. But the Hunters and Smoker weren't interested in bread or vegetables, and the Witch had problems with anything she couldn't skewer on her fearsome claws.

So then the initiate took to cutting his meat in half and tossing it to the Hunters and the Witch. At first that second half was cut again and a part left to both the Smoker and the Witch. But the Smoker always tossed his piece to the Witch, and she cut it into smaller pieces for him to swallow whole. She also always kept the smaller quarter for herself. As such, the initiate decided to get two pieces of meat; one he fed straight to the Hunters, and the other he cut in half and gave to the Witch, who then doled it out to the Smoker.

Just the realization that the Witch was doing something other than sobbing or trying to kill anything was amazing to the initiate. But that she was also working with the Smoker, helping him, was nearly mind-blowing. The Smoker even _thanked_ her, the initiate thought; certainly with every piece handed off, he would actually _caress_ the Witch's hand with his tongue and wheeze. It was a sign of obvious affection, and one of many that this—this—_pack_ had displayed.

"Pack." It was a term he'd come up on his own for this group, referring to it as such without even thinking about it. It was the same, in his mind, as a pack of wolves, perhaps; a hierarchical family group of animals that spent their whole lives working together for survival. That was what he was seeing here—though which of them was the alpha was still a mystery. At first he'd thought it was the larger red Hunter, but that one occasionally came against the Smoker.

That Smoker was, in fact, the best choice. The Witch didn't show any desire toward dominance, and she often deferred to the Smoker. The other two Hunters deferred to the largest of them. Yet the Smoker was fragile, one of the most fragile of the so-called "Special" Infected; the initiate was certain that if a struggle for dominance occurred, the Smoker would have to back down or else be killed with one swipe.

He'd heard rumors that the woman they'd found was found with the Infected. But it was a ridiculous notion that a _human_ could be alpha of an Infected pack. Wasn't it?

It almost seemed that way, though. After nearly a week from the "wedding," the Infected pack was used to his presence. Maybe it was just because he fed them, but aside from glares from the Smoker, none of them made any aggressive moves against him. They did become more hostile to other individuals than him, but they were, by and large, _tame_. Their behavior could only be explained by the woman's influence over them.

At the end of that week, the initiate decided to test just how accustomed to him they were. After feeding them, and after the Hunters had settled their daily squabble, he approached their cage slowly. The large red one was closest to the bars, which was fortunate; it was the dominant one, and if it accepted him, the other two surely would. As it ate, he slowly reached his hand through the bars. When it didn't react, he tentatively touched the back of its hood.

There wasn't even a pause. Its nostrils flared a bit, he saw, but it wasn't actively discouraging him. He began stroking the hood lightly, and even giving it a light scratch. It rumbled in its throat, a not unpleasant sound, and he took it for encouragement. The other two Hunters were "watching," their faces turned to him and their alpha. He found himself smiling slightly as he petted the Hunter.

_They really _are_ just animals,_ he thought. _Not monsters, just predators. And they can be tamed._

He kept up the stroking for a few more minutes before withdrawing his hand. The Hunter snuffled in his direction, the steak long since devoured, and turned to pounce on the blue one. The initiate sat back on his haunches, watching them play before returning to his seat by the door. He was almost stunned at what had just happened. He had been _petting a Hunter_ like a dog. He was beginning to think of them—of all the Infected in those cages—as animals instead of mindless killing machines.

A wary wheeze caught the initiate's attention, and he glanced up at the Smoker. He was watching him carefully, his single eye fixed on him. Had he been watching while he was petting the Hunter? Slowly, the initiate raised a hand in greeting, smiling nervously. After a moment of staring, the Smoker nodded almost imperceptibly, though with a glare.

The gesture was almost human. In fact, it _was_ human, and it further stunned the initiate. He stared, even as the Smoker turned away, coughing.

He didn't have time to dwell on it, however. The door behind him hissed open, and a templar stepped in. The man was, as nearly all Crusaders were, at least a head taller than the initiate, and half again as large. He was no Killbane, but he was hefty in his own right, and most of his bulk was crammed into fatigues, the Crusade's sigil emblazoned proudly in several places. The initiate shot to his feet, saluting.

"Twenty-six-five-four?" the templar barked.

"Y-yes sir!" He stood as straight as he could.

"Report to Cell Number Two-Two-Seven immediately, Initiate. You're taking Jankowski's shift."

"Jankowski?" The initiate only vaguely recalled the baby-faced man, with his blond hair and brown eyes. He remembered that the man had a regular shift guarding the cell in which the woman they'd found—to whom they were now married, according to Killbane—was kept. He also remembered seeing Jankowski's name newly-engraved on a cross in the compound graveyard yesterday. "Oh. I—but—"

"_Now_, soldier!"

He couldn't disobey. Scrabbling for his gun, he swung it over his shoulder. He risked a glance back at the Infected; the Hunters were growling deep in their throats at the templar, and the Smoker was glaring and wheezing angrily. Even the Witch was watching warily, one red eye peeking between her claws as she cried. He tried to give them a reassuring smile, without giving anything away to the templar that was staring at him like a hawk. It seemed to work, for the most part; the Hunters' aggression ebbed slightly, at least, and they retreated further into their cage.

Assured that they wouldn't cause trouble, the initiate saluted the templar and hurried from the holding pens. He was worried for them; even if they didn't start anything, he didn't know the templar very well at all. He didn't know that the officer wouldn't hurt them.

_Just have to hope,_ he thought as he half-jogged through the compound. _Just have to hope that they'll be safe enough._

Of course he was worried for them. Of _course_.

* * *

When at last the initiate arrived at the cell, another soldier was leaving. He had a smug, satisfied look on his face, and though obvious effort had been made to neaten his uniform, there was still a bit out of place. There was the briefest, barest whiff of musk as the cell door swung closed, and the initiate felt the bile raise in his throat. He didn't need any further clues as to what had just gone on in that cell.

The initiate nodded respectfully—if a bit hollowly—to the passing soldier. The man gave him a wide, knowing grin before disappearing around the corner. Once he was out of sight, the initiate leaned against the wall beside the door, running a hand through his hair. He wasn't sure how to handle the situation; even worse, he felt _H__im_ stirring.

He waited several minutes, hopefully letting her dress herself, before finally knocking on the door. "I—er—may I come in? Is it—are you decent?"

The voice that answered was barely audible through the thick, steel door. "It's not as though I can stop you, but yes. Come in."

The initiate swung open the door, wincing slightly at the sheer amount of _pink_. It was almost painful to his eyes. The woman was sitting on her bed, clothed in a pink sundress, staring at him with a haunted expression. She looked ragged and pained, tiny wrinkles lining the underside of her eyes and the edges of her mouth. Strands of silver were salted through her mussed red hair.

What made him pause were the bruises. Large, purple and yellow bruises marred her weather-tanned skin, wrapping around her wrists, upper arms, and her neck. A few even dipped below the neckline, and he dreaded to think exactly where they led. She looked like the perfect definition of "beaten wife."

Yet despite her appearance, he could feel _Him_ beginning to rise. _He_ wanted her. With as much effort as he could muster, he fought _Him_ back.

_**Aw, c'mon, kid. You know you want 'er. She's even your wife!**_

_No. NO. It isn't right. She isn't my wife at all. I can't—it isn't right!_

_**Feh. You're going to have 'er one way or the other.**_

Then _He_backed off. The initiate's brows furrowed slightly in consternation, and he slowly pulled his rifle from his shoulder. She flinched away, and hastily, he laid it away, against the wall behind a chair. Then he cleared his throat, and spoke.

"S-sorry about that," he said. "I-I'm not going to use it. I promise."

The woman gave him a hard stare before replying, "You wouldn't be the first."

He winced. That told him more than she likely knew—and he didn't like it. He knew these people could be nasty, knew they could be "creative" in their purpose. But to be so cruel to another person, another _human_—

"W-why would they do that?" the initiate finally sputtered. "Why would they hit you?"

"I fought. Now, are we going to get this over with or not?" He stared at her, uncomprehending. She gave him a hard look. "I know what you're here for. Are you going to get to it?"

Realization dawned on him slowly, and he stuttered, flailing for words. "Oh—oh god—no! No, no, no. No, I'm not—I wouldn't—no! I—I was just told to come here, that I was taking over someone else's shift. I'm usually just watching the Infected we captured, that's all—"

"The Infected?" Almost instantly, the woman was on her feet, and her eyes blazed with an intensity she hadn't yet displayed. "You've seen them?!"

Her reaction took the initiate by surprise, and he stuttered a few moments more. "Y-yeah! They're all right, I've been feeding them and they've been left alone for the most part. Th-they _look_ healthy...as much as Infected _can_ look healthy. And th-they seem happy enough—the Hunters play together, at least."

As he spoke, the woman seemed to relax a little, and she settled on the bed again. "And they're unhurt?"

He watched her for a moment. Her eyes showed concern, and perhaps a bit of fear—but they weren't dead or guarded, unlike just a few moments earlier. The Infected he was watching were special to her. "No, they're not hurt," he finally replied. "Like I said, they're playing, and eating as well as they can. I feed them; I get an extra steak, and give half to the Hunters, and half to the Witch. She cuts up a bit for the Smoker. It's—it's sort of fascinating, actually."

The woman's eyes never left him, but she didn't say anything for a long while. He shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny, clearing his throat nervously. But finally, she said, softly, "Caroline. Her name is Caroline."

"Caroline? The—the Witch?" The initiate was surprised. Had she named them?

"Yes. The largest Hunter is Lexi; her twin brother is Chris. Lexi's mate is Jeremy. And the Smoker..." She trailed off for a moment. "The Smoker goes by Blake."

_She's opening up to me,_ the initiate realized. _I'm the only one who's been kind to her so far, who's shown no interest in—in abusing her, and she's opening up to me._

He hoped he didn't blow it.

_**You will, kid.**_

"W-well. As long as we're—we're on names, um. What's yours?" he inquired tentatively. She stared at him even harder, her eyes narrowed. He blinked, and then realized he hadn't introduced himself. Biting his lower lip, he considered for a moment. "S-sorry. I'm being impolite. My name is—I—they've given me a number. Initiate number twenty-six-five-fou—" A final realization hit him, and he cut himself off. His mind worked, matching numbers to letters. "Zed. My name is Zed."

The woman remained silent, again glaring at him. It was a distrustful look, but it wasn't entirely hostile, either. After some time, she seemed to accept his words, and reached up with one hand to brush through her hair. "Thank you, Zed. Thank you for being the first soldier to be so—so _human_. You're the first one to even ask my name." She looked at him again, and this time, her expression was softer, and there was the slightest ghost of a smile at her lips. "It's Garnet, by the way."

"Garnet. Isn't that a gem?" Zed smiled sheepishly. "It's pretty."

"Thank you." Garnet's smile widened slightly, turning into a light upturn of the corners of her lips, stretching the wrinkles there. He found it gave her a certain charm, and he found himself wanting to see a _real_ smile from her. Before he knew it, he resolved to make her smile—_really_ smile.

"Y-you're welcome." Zed smiled in return, lifting a hand to scratch and the back of his head. "So. Those Infected. Are they—yours?"

She nodded slightly, leaning back on the bed. "They're my Pack. For these past three years, they've kept me safe, and kept me sane. They're all I have."

Zed leaned forward, resting his weight on his elbows across his knees. "How? How did you tame them? I didn't even know they _could_ be tamed."

"It wasn't easy at all," Garnet replied. "Chris had nearly taken my hand off during that process, and that would have been my death if I hadn't been able to operate on myself and even then, I've had to learn to rely more on my left hand than my right. And Blake and Caroline are hardly 'tamed' at all; they listen to me when they choose, and follow me because they want to. But it started with the Hunters—Chris and Lexi to be precise.

"When the apocalypse began, I was a veterinarian, and I worked with all kinds of animals where I practiced in rural Pennsylvania because I was the only one within many miles. I was called in by CEDA to help in their research of the Infected, the better to combat them and return the world to normal. My lab was overrun, however, and I was the only survivor. I'm not the strongest human being alive, as you can likely tell, and I hadn't had any survival training whatsoever. I was pretty much certain to die.

"But I had an idea," she continued. "A wild, crazy, insane idea that I knew shouldn't have worked—especially not as well as it had. While the common Infected were lost, our observations of the Special Infected in our designated zone showed that they behaved, for the most part, like _animals_. They weren't human anymore, but they weren't mindless, brainless killing machines. They still had personalities, but basic, like wild animals. And I knew wild animals well enough; I had qualification to care for them when they were brought to me. I could also train animals, and helped the local farmers with that."

"So you thought you'd catch and train an _Infected_?" Zed stared at her. He'd seen the results for his own eyes, but he was still taken by surprise. "God! That's—that's—"

"Insane?" Garnet stared at him as though daring him to challenge her. "I know. I almost didn't go through with it. But I couldn't survive on my own. I had the lab still, but it wasn't enough. I couldn't defend myself forever, not alone. Humans tamed wolves long ago with much, much less than I had, and some Africans still tame wild hyenas—again, with less than I had. Why couldn't I tame the Infected when they're just as wild, when I knew how—or could research the methods—and had the resources?" Zed shook his head; he couldn't refute that.

"So—so _how_, then?" He couldn't restrain his curiosity. "How did you tame them? Train them? Was it—like, aversion therapy or something?"

Garnet nodded. "Essentially, yes. Strong electric shock for aggressive behavior toward me, and food rewards for desired behaviors. I set up a trap for one of the twins, first—I wasn't aware they were actually _twins_ at the time, but after I caught and tranquilized Chris, I realized that the caterwauling of his sister outside indicated a connection between them. I caught her the next day, and they were much more manageable."

"So what did you teach them?"

"Primarily hunting and attack commands. What I needed to survive. I borrowed from how hunters trained their dogs—both birders and small game hunters. They know a few other basic commands, too, like 'sit.'"

Zed nodded. "So what about the Smoker—Blake? And—and Caroline?"

Garnet smirked slightly; at least that came easier to her, if only marginally. "They came of their own accord. Blake had acted as the twins' guardian from above, or at least a tolerated follower, I believe. He'd been a physician before Infection; given his penchant to follow them, I'm sure he was the twins' physician. But Caroline—" She paused. "Caroline, despite being a Witch, is the twins' younger sister. Their hunting territory was the same territory in which she wandered. When she realized that they followed me, she attached herself to me."

"And that third Hunter?"

"Jeremy? I picked him up later. My lab was destroyed by a Tank that had gotten too close, and we were forced to wander. We came on a human encampment which had been performing experiments on the Infected they caught. Jeremy was one such creature, and I was set to care for him. I was 'safe,' I suppose; I provided for him and cared for him, and he came to trust me enough that I could teach him the same commands. And when I brought him to the rest of the Pack—" Another ghost of a smile graced her lips. "—Lexi was all over him, and vice-versa."

Zed blinked. "Wait—do you mean—"

"Mmhmm. They're mated."

He swallowed hard. That explained much of the behavior he'd observed between them. "Have they ever—er—bred?"

"Heh. No, not yet. I'm unsure if they even _can_, to be perfectly honest. It's been a little less than three years since they became mates. They mate frequently, but Lexi hasn't yet gotten pregnant. And even if they _could_ breed, what would their offspring be like? I have no idea if any of their mutations are heritable. Would the child be human or Hunter? Or would it be another—another 'species' of Infected altogether?"

Zed blinked, fascinated. "I—I have no idea. I mean, I know that's a rhetorical question, but it's a damn good one! Even we haven't been able to figure out how deep the mutations go."

"We would have to be able to retrieve so many samples," Garnet mused. "Reproductive samples from both human and Infected. Regular blood samples in an attempt to compare genetic structure. And if they can breed amongst one another—would they be too different to breed with a human?"

Excitement filled him. It could be done—he could probably snag something from the Hunters, at least, and then use his own blood for comparison. But then realization came to him that not only would the Crusade frown on his actions, but they would _execute_ him. He almost instantly deflated, and sat back. Garnet watched him, and seemed to be able to read him.

"Heh. Don't worry. I don't think anyone else would be interested, either. Even if I weren't a prisoner." The bitterness with which she said that made his heart twist.

"Well—I mean—maybe we could—" He hesitated. "It'd be possible to—if they could just—" He sighed, and finished lamely, "Maybe one day."

Garnet made a noncommittal sound and lay back on the bed. Zed checked his watch—the end of his shift. He frowned, and looked back up at her. "I—I need to go. It's the end of my shift here." He could see that she tried to hide a wince by turning over, but he was able to discern it. "I'm sorry. I really am. I wish I could stay longer—"

She interrupted him, waving him off. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

"Are—are you sure?"

"Perfectly." He wasn't convinced, and was about to say something before she continued. "Zed—thank you. This has easily been the—the best time I've had since my capture. But I want to ask you something." She turned back over and looked at him. She looked almost vulnerable, certainly more than the guarded fear she'd displayed when he first came in. "You said you care for my Pack—please, please watch over them. Keep them safe."

How could he deny her? "I will, Garnet. I promise. And I'll keep you updated on them each time I see you."

That ghost of a smile returned to her lips—and was it a bit stronger now? "Thank you."

Zed was about to answer when the door slammed open. The Crusader standing there was unfamiliar; he only caught the name of Kopf on his fatigues before he strode past. Zed stood quickly, and retrieved his rifle. Kopf was already talking to her—or rather, _down _at her—but he was able to catch her eye from behind him. He gave her an encouraging smile; she only nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"You leavin', buddy?" Kopf had turned to glare at Zed. For a brief moment, Zed was tempted to slam his face with the butt of his rifle, but he thought better of it. He didn't say anything, either, but turned and left the room.

_I need to help her_. The thought came almost of its own accord, but he knew it came from him. _I need to help her, get her out of here. And her Pack. They shouldn't be here, any of them. This can't be their fate. I need to help them._

_**Ha. Good luck with that, kid.**_

But not even _His_ blatant dismissal wouldn't shake him. Not this time. _It isn't right that they stay here. It isn't right what's happening to her. They need to get out of here, to be free. And I'm the only one who can help them—who _will_ help them._

_**So how're you gonna do it? Play the hero? Ha! You can hardly stand up to these guys. Look at how you wussed out against that Kopf guy.**_

_I can do it. I know I can. I just have to wait until the right time..._


End file.
